Of Rolling Pins And Rubies
by Defying.Expectations
Summary: A collection of 100 word Sweenett/Toddvett drabbles.
1. Close Your Eyes

**A/N: **This will be an ongoing series of Sweenett/Toddvett drabbles. Each will be no more and no less than 100 words, and will not be connected to each other whatsoever. Expect everything ranging from unrequited love to shared feelings, fluff to angst, pure absurdity to something with more solemnity . . . you get the idea.

For those following Moments, my general ST drabble series, the first nine drabbles posted here will look familiar to you, as I've also posted them in Moments. From now on though, I'll be posting all my Sweenett drabbles here instead (unless it's more of a Sweenett companionship than romance, in which case I might cross-post again).

Also, as with my other drabble series, I will be taking requests. =) So if you have some Sweenett concept/idea/etc that you would like me to write, do let me know! Please know, however, that I don't write smut. I write sex, but will not describe to you every last detail. Save your dirtier requests for someone else. ;]

This first drabble is dedicated to my dance teacher, who unwittingly inspired this entire scene.

* * *

He starts to leave her bed. She grasps his forearm. "Why not stay the night for once, love?"

"Eleanor," he warns, withdrawing his arm.

There's too much light in her dark gaze, too much love; he looks away.

"Just . . . lie down. Close your eyes."

But he can't. To close your eyes is to trust someone not to hurt you.

He knows people always hurt each other.

Her face presses into his shoulder, lips shifting against his skin as she murmurs: "Even if your eyes're closed, I won't ever hurt you."

He knows this too. It scares him.


	2. Bleed

It's only as she's scrubbing blood off her hands – courtesy of her tenant's latest victim – that she realizes:

She hasn't bled in over a month.

Her heart leaps to her throat and throbs giddily as, grinning, she brings a hand to her stomach.

_He won't want a child by you._

The grin drops. Now her heart pounds with anxiety.

In time, she tells herself, he'll warm to the idea of a child – of their child. She knows he will.

Her jubilation swells anew. She smiles.

When she strips off her undergarments that night, her blood runs all over her hands.


	3. Intuition

**A/N:** Dedicated to my dear cousin Mary Jane, who could not remember Nellie's name after we watched ST together, and ended up calling her Mrs. Doolittle. This has been begging to be written ever since. ;]

* * *

"Look what I found wandering the streets," she coos. "Poor little bugger. Half-starved, he is."

He spares Mrs. Lovett a brief glance. A scrawny cat sits contentedly in her arms.

He does not understand his landlady. She routinely – willingly, in fact – cuts up human bodies day after day, and yet melts into butter when she sees an abused boy.

Or a neglected puss, apparently.

"He's had a rough time," she continues. "Been wandering the streets for years. Never had a proper home."

Sweeney looks at her. "How do you know? Cats can't speak English."

"Intuition, love."

He rolls his eyes.


	4. Red

From his shop window, he sees a customer pinching her buttocks.

Unexplainable, inescapable red suffuses his vision. Before he knows it he's outside, fingers locked around her shoulder.

"Why were you encouraging that man?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Encouraging? _Hardly_."

The red thickens.

He lunges forward; she holds him back.

"C'mon, dear. He's an ordinary bloke what's after a woman. Not that I'll let him near. Y'know, I managed fine without you for fifteen years. Surely you've more trust in me?"

She smiles. "Don't tell me you're jealous, love."

"No." Scowling, he leaves; her taunting smirk burns into his back.


	5. Pain

"So let's keep living it," he croons, each syllable laden with – no, she isn't imagining – love. He feels more than lust – he _loves_ her –

And they're dancing and spinning and oh God if his strong arms weren't around her she would've melted into the floor –

– _love –_

" – just keep living it – " she echoes, hardly conscious of her mouth moving, so overwhelmed that he finally feels as she does –

– but –

– but something isn't –

Her eyes widen.

_No._

" – really _living it_!"

– _my love –_

And then his arms are throwing her and she is falling and screaming and pain pain _pain_ –


	6. Intuition II

**A/N:** Part two of drabble #4, Intuition, though can probably be understood just as easily by itself.

* * *

"I've decided to call him James."

The cat approaches the barber chair and coils around Sweeney's legs, failing to notice the look of disdain the barber shoots him.

"Always liked the name James. Noble, strong name. I mean, there's a reason so many kings've been named James."

The animal jumps up and lands in Sweeney's lap. He scowls.

"And it's a very fitting name for him – he's survived some tough times, y'know."

Sweeney lifts the cat by the scruff of its neck. "Mrs. Lovett. Your precious 'James' is a girl."

She stares at him.

He smirks.

So much for intuition.


	7. Barber Chair

**Warning: **Far more tongue-in-cheek than my usual writings. Also very AU.

* * *

He throws her into his barber's chair and wastes no time in joining her.

Lips tussle. Clothes rip. Breath hitches. Faces flush deep. Unintelligible murmurs escape. Hearts thump in a fury. Greedy hands roam.

A foot – he doesn't know whose – flails out and hits the lever that springs the trapdoor.

If there had been enough time to panic, the pair would have. But it happens too fast for either barber or baker to react at all.

They tumble into the bakehouse headfirst and smack the floor. Their spines break upon impact. They are both dead in less than an instant.

* * *

**A/N: **C'mon, guys. There's a reason Sweeney calls Nellie _practical_. Neither of them would not have sex over a trapdoor.

[mind you - I'm not trying to offend anyone who -has- written this scenario. I've read many awesome fan-fics that use this situation in a more serious light. Just wanted to bring up how ridiculous it really is. ;)]


	8. Pretend

She pretends to not be miserable and he pretends to not be human, but in the end they can't fool each other.

In the daylight, it's easy to pretend. The light shines through the window panes, illuminates the room, sparkles on glass. Creates a glare in everyone's eyes. Washes out reality.

At night, there's no blaze of light to hide behind. At night, she can't pretend her pillows aren't wet with tears. At night, he can't pretend hurting these others will bring his wife back.

At night, they have each other.

In another life, perhaps that would have been enough.


	9. Boundless

**A/N: **For Roselize.

* * *

They say love is unconditional. Endless. Boundless.

Once, I would have said so too.

We walk through the sewers, stepping over filth. Your silver friend smiles from where it sits, waiting, in your hand.

But there comes a point when the boundaries are pushed too far.

I glance at you. You, of course, don't see.

That point has been reached. The boundaries have reluctantly shown themselves.

You are my boundaries. I will always choose you over everything. Over anything. No matter how much it pains me.

A tear slips past my eyelids. You don't see this either.

_I'm sorry, Toby._


	10. Birthday

**A/N: **Over 200 hits and only four reviews? C'mon, guys. I promise that I don't bite (. . . hard ;]).

* * *

"Did you forget that today's your birthday, love?"

No. He just didn't want to remember.

"Well. Bought you something, anyway."

He deliberately hadn't reminded her so she _wouldn't _buy him something. Birthdays reeked too much of Benjamin Barker. Of happiness.

She pressed her gift into his hands. He remained at the window, not looking at her. She sighed as though expecting more (though he didn't know why she _would_ expect more). Then she stepped forward, brushed her lips against his cheek, and left.

He threw out the present without opening it, but could not as easily throw away the kiss.


	11. A Customer

**A/N: **For unamuerte. Very sorry for the ridiculous wait I put you through, dear.

On a somewhat unrelated note: I'm currently in search of 1-2 beta reader(s) for a novel-sized ST fic I'm writing. I do already have a beta for this fic whom I love beyond words, but, well, I like having multiple opinions. If you would like more details on the fic, please PM me.

* * *

She recognizes him immediately when he walks into her shop. Feels surprised that she's clearly the first to do so, that no officer has been able to tell – he's changed, certainly, but it's still him.

Those who love must have longer memories than those who hate.

But she doesn't let on that she knows him.

Babbling is the only way she can handle this. If she doesn't cling to these pointless words, she'll have nothing to protect herself with. Nothing to mask the fact that he's anything but a customer and that her mind's everywhere but the words she speaks.


	12. Love and Blood

Red is the color of love and blood. She supposes that's meant to be irony.

Or maybe it's meant to be complementary.

It's the color of other things too, of course. Flowers and candies and couches and rouge and wine and fruits and hair ribbons and rubies and radishes and anger and lips of prostitutes and pain and the bloodied flesh in the grinder and carnality and her hair and his barber chair and the streaks in the sky just before sunset.

So maybe it's not irony or complementary. Maybe it's just the fates yet again toying with their minds.


	13. Ashes

_It isn't that easy to be rid of me, my love._

No. Nellie Lovett is ashes now. Ashes speak no more than the corpse in his arms.

_I'll always be here._

He holds Lucy tighter. How does this demon haunt him even after death?

_It isn't about haunting you. It's about being with you. _

He closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in Lucy's hair. He doesn't want to hear. But he does.

_I still love you. I don't have to be proud of that for it to be true._

He's almost relieved when the boy slits his throat.


	14. Countdown

**A/N:** Reviews are love. ^^

* * *

Count the seconds until your death.

_Fifty . . . twenty-two . . . fifty-eight . . .?_

But Sweeney isn't a clock that chimes every hour.

He is precision embodied, but he chimes to his own clock, and even she, who knows him better than anyone, can't set herself to chime attune.

_Twenty-five . . . sixty, if you're lucky . . ._

He's advancing towards her, teeth bared, skin slick with blood. Absurd as it is, she wishes she too were painted in red. Maybe then she could feel what he does.

_Time is ticking . . ._


	15. Cold

"Let it go, pet."

"He's so cold," she says, clinging tighter. As though she can heat it to life.

Sweeney takes her hand. "It's over. Let him go."

She clutches the stillborn to her chest.

He nuzzles his nose against her cheek. "I'm sorry, Nellie."

She knows he's not. Knows his affection is fake – ensures she continues baking his customers into pies. Knows he's wild with ecstasy that their child is as mythical as the Promised Land.

Knowing this can't stop her from leaning into his touch as he tenderly wipes her tears and removes the baby from her arms.

* * *

**A/N:** Dedicated to Saime Joxxers, for it was she who suggested I write about Sweeney and Nellie's child. I think she had a mildly happier scenario in mind when she made said suggestion, though . . .


	16. Splinter

**A/N:** For fanfic50, prompt five, cut.

* * *

"How did it get so deep?"

"Blame your stupid bloody shop railing, love, not me. The wood's all rough and breaking."

He takes her finger and plucks the splinter in one movement as she hisses. The cut he made gathers a drop of blood.

"That hurt."

He raises an eyebrow in black amusement. "You're not used to pain by now?"

"Just wasn't expecting it," she grumbles.

He presses his lips to the ruby upon her fingertip.

She stops breathing.

He kisses the crimson droplet, smearing her blood over his lips as he murmurs against her skin, "Always expect it, pet."


	17. Apathy

**A/N:** For fanfic50, prompt eight, apathy.

* * *

"We need to liven this room up."

He stares out the window.

"Even just a pretty flower."

No response.

"Or how about some curtains for the window?"

Still nothing.

Angers stings her skin.

"No, forget all that," she declares. "It doesn't matter what you think about how to dress this place up because I'm kicking you out."

Sweeney doesn't twitch.

"Actually," she practically shouts, desperate for a reaction – for attention – for any damn thing, "I'm just going to kill you myself."

Nothing.

She hurls the door open, exiting, letting it slam back into the frame just to hear the sound.


	18. Stay Forever

**A/N: **AU. Nellie survives the end of the musical.

For fanfic50, prompt ten, stay.

* * *

She still hears his heartbeat in her ear.

Still senses the pressure and warmth of his fingertips against her bare skin. Still feels the thrums in his chest when he murmured to her. Still remembers the cadences they created together in the whispered darkness.

"Mr. Todd?" she breathes into her pillow whenever the vibrations in his chest end, or when his fingertips leave her skin, or when his heartbeat ceases.

His fingers alight on her skin, pulling her into his embrace. "I'm here, Nellie."

She threads her arms around him. "Stay with me, love," she whispers into the darkness, alone.


	19. Almost

**A/N:** For iBounce.

* * *

_Please, love,_ she whispers, curling into you on the mattress. _Just hold me._

You never have before. Why would tonight be any different?

Arms snake around yours to prevent you from flinging her away. You tense – but don't move.

_I'm afraid of the dark,_ she breathes.

Now you move – now you throw her from you, now she jumps up – now you are alone in your darkness.

It's a lie. She isn't afraid of the dark. Demons cannot survive if they aren't confidants with darkness.

You almost wish she hadn't said it, hadn't lied.

You almost might have let her stay.


	20. Dietary Preferences

**A/N:** I don't always take myself very seriously. You shouldn't either.

Last line stolen from #storystarters on Twitter and altered for the word count's sake.

* * *

"Nellie! It needs you."

"D'you really have to keep calling the little darling 'it,' love? And for Christ's sake, I'm coming as fast as I can."

"Better hurry up." Sweeney held the baby at arm's length, gaze wary. "It's hungry."

"It isn't _my_ fault our babe's diet is so selective," Nellie grumbled as she stomped up the stairs.

Sweeney scowled. "You're blaming _me_ for its – dietary preferences?"

Nellie arched an eyebrow at him as she handed the baby a bottle. "It didn't get 'em from me, dear."

The baby cooed, holding the bottle of fresh blood lovingly to its chest.


	21. In The Afterglow

A/N: For Fondness for you. Very sorry for the long wait, love.

Fanfic50, prompt #30, gone.

* * *

He is still in the afterglow, his head pillowed on her stomach. She is still too, her hands laced in his hair, her legs wrapped around his back, holding him to her and refusing to let go.

"Love?" she whispers, the word holding more emotion and devotion than ever before.

He doesn't move.

She peers into his face and swallows a cry: his eyes are fixed like a blind man's upon the window, vague, clouded with pain she can't ever see.

She can hold him and refuse to let go as long as she wants, but he is already gone.


	22. Corset

**A/N: **For iBounce.

* * *

She jerks at the laces of her corset until her jaws cinch together in pain, her hips and waist a perfectly curved pear, her breasts jutting outwards, her stomach flat and barren as hell.

Not that it makes a difference how she looks. He would not notice even if she wore a barrel. He would not care.

She is imprisoned by fabric and strings and stays – but he isn't the jailer.

She holds the keys.

Her jaws cinch together further, this time in determination.

One day he will notice. One day he will care.

She jerks at the laces harder.


	23. Perfection

**A/N:** For fanfic50, prompt twenty-two, perfect.

* * *

Her life is perfect.

She lives with her beloved and her adoring son. She runs a business that brings in plenty of money.

What more can woman require?

She can never fall asleep. Each night, she slaps her pillows relentlessly, trying to make them comfortable. But they're permanently crisp from dried fluids, permanently perfumed by metallic blood and salty tears, and she will never be comfortable until the permanent disintegrates.

But she is happy. Her tears leak and his blood seeps onto her pillows and she tells herself she is happy.

After all, no one ever said perfection was easy.


	24. Attitude Adjustment

For fanfic50, prompt twelve, attitude.

* * *

"Ever thought the problem was you and not all them?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean . . . a big hole filled with shit? I've never seen one of those. So maybe the hole isn't in the world. Maybe the hole's in you."

"I'm quite in-tact, Mrs. Lovett."

"Metaphorically speaking, love. All I'm saying is maybe you need an attitude adjustment."

Sweeney considered. "You're right, Mrs. Lovett."

Nellie beamed. She was right! He _never_ listened to her!

Sweeney stuck out one arm, palm splayed. His face was apathetic, his eyes smirking. "Talk to the hand, Mrs. Lovett – 'cause the face ain't home."


	25. Your Effect

**A/N:** For Adrenaline Write. So sorry for the long wait. I do hope you enjoy this drabble.

* * *

Fanfic50 #38: Effect.

* * *

"Benjamin Barker," he says the first time they meet, offering his hand, smiling. "I'd like to rent the room above your shop."

Nellie accepts his hand. "So long as you can pay."

She doesn't faint or forget to breathe when she first sees him. Save for admiration at how he laughs at her frank reply rather than become affronted at her being unusually brash for a woman, she feels nothing.

Falling in love isn't instantaneous. It's a slow dawning, an unhurried light turning on, an internal beacon unnoticed until its raw rays consume the soul.

And then she feels everything.


	26. Ghost

Fanfic50 #42: paranormal.

* * *

He says he's not whole any longer, not without Lucy. He says he's a ghost, not a man.

She knows better.

No ghost could seize her in his arms; a ghost's touch passes right through humans. No ghost could groan and murmur in her ear; a ghost's sounds aren't heard by humans.

No ghost could trap her lips in his.

Not that he needs to trap her lips, as though she would try to escape if he didn't: there's nowhere she ever wants to be more than the prison of his body.

A ghost could certainly never hold her captive.

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews are my lifeblood. Seriously.


	27. All In Masks

**A/N:** For fanfic50, prompt thirty-four, disguise.

* * *

Sweeney doesn't need a disguise.

Other demons do: penny dreadful villains, prisoners at the noose. The cowards at Turpin's masquerade fifteen years ago.

People do not fear Sweeney's naked face: they only fear what they see in that face when he cups his blade in his hand. And then it's too late.

Sweeney doesn't need a disguise.

Except with her.

She never fears his naked face.

And that scares him. That makes him yearn for a disguise, because perhaps that'd put fear in her heart – and yet he knows it wouldn't . . .

And that scares him even more.


	28. Conscious

Fanfic50 #31: determined.

* * *

"Here you are, love," she trills as she sets down his breakfast tray.

He stands by the window,

_but turns to her when she speaks. Smiling. "Thank you, Nellie."_

"And I was hoping we'd spend the afternoon at the park, since its Sunday."

_He laces their fingers together. His hands are callused, but warm. His eyes dark, but caressing. "Sounds perfect."_

She kisses his cheek and exits, refusing to notice that he's not spoken or looked at her.

Some people are determined to awaken and live.

Nellie Lovett is determined to sleep. To dream.

She can't live if she's conscious.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews are love.


	29. Proof of Heaven

Fanfic50 #49: Insecure.

* * *

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Benjamin traces her jaw, softly. "Of course."

Lucy swallows. "Sometimes I compare myself to women in the market, or – "

_Or women who live on the floor below . . ._

"You're beautiful," Benjamin whispers.

Lucy beams.

xxx

"D'you think I'm pretty?"

Sweeney traces his photo frame, softly.

Nellie swallows. "Sometimes I compare myself to women in the market, or – "

_Or women who live only in your mind . . ._

"You're beautiful," Sweeney whispers to his photograph.

Nellie turns away so he can't see her tears. Not that he ever even looks at her.


End file.
